


Ode to Roy

by tokii



Series: 壊れた方 [25]
Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-02-01 07:27:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21437737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokii/pseuds/tokii
Summary: Jason mourns Roy's death, convinced that death got the wrong man.Tag: Pink (Extreme Caution)
Series: 壊れた方 [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542805





	Ode to Roy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sophisthoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophisthoe/gifts).

Ode to Roy

There’s no moon tonight - no glowing marks marring the darkness, no mythic lights wandering the expanse. Only blackness and a despondent quiet. A sheet of fog slips below the skyline, warping the glow that rises from the sleepless city. A dismal parade of reds and blues light the wall beside him, their dulled color flashing against his damp forehead. The gay shadows mix with the darkness above, blurring before disappearing into the fog. Jason sucks his lips, and his tongue sticks to the dryness in his mouth. The bottle lays empty on his lap, his head laid back against muddied stone. A second is dripping somewhere beside his ear, the echo of each falling drop bounding off the muted wall strewn with lazy shadows. His hair is matted with the sour wetness spilling from the lip of the bottle. He moans and pushes his head into the stone, until the stinking wetness touches his cool neck. Jason’s too fucking smashed to care.

His eyes are fixed on the nothingness above, the eternal stretch of emptiness. The world is hazy, but he feels the sore ache deep in his chest as he looks into the night. He grabs at it, fingers numb, trying to discern where the pain is coming from. He pulls his clumsy hand away and puts it to his face, adjusting it to fit within the blur. There isn’t any blood. He drops his arm into the grime, sending the bottle spinning away. Jason flinches at the clatter, but his heavy limbs don’t care to respond. His chest begins to tighten again, and he squeezes his eyes shut. It’s not the kind of hurt that you can numb. It’s just a gaping hole that never heals, a constant pain that leaks from you. It’s loss. It can’t be drowned, he’d tried. The bottle had slowed to an awkward roll, disappearing off the edge of the parapet into the wandering fog. No, loss couldn’t be drowned.

But it could be thrown off a building. Jason pushes himself up, his hair dripping sour whiskey down his collar. The muted color from the fog swims up before him, distorting slightly until his head begins to throb. The warped stone spins a while longer after he sits himself upright. The skyglow twists in his field of vision, and misshapen smiles seem to appear within the streams of milky color. He sighs, and his eyes fall closed, color still beating red against his eyelids as he shifts his hand through a cluttered pocket. His thumb grazes the coolness and he pulls the weight free from the lint debris. Jason rotates the bullet between his fingers with practiced familiarity. He opens his eyes and the smiles ebb once again in the colored fog. He flicks the bullet off the edge of the building and pictures it falling down through the swirling pink, scattering the flashing blue and thudding into the cement of Gotham Square. The fog billows just under his feet where the bullet disappeared. Jason narrows his eyes at the empty space and feels the heavy tapping on his chest. He winces and shields his breast with an open hand. His eyes fill, and wetness spills onto his cheek as he grips tighter, desperately trying to hold himself together. To hold it all in the leaking hole. Fucking anxiety. He gasps and rubs at the aching within him, breathless. He feels his skin bruising beneath the pressure of his fingers, distracting him from the fucking bottomless pit left in the center of him. Left by _him_.

“Fuck, Roy,” he moans, another tear splashing as a hiccup catches in his throat. “You were trying to be better. You finally chose to do something for yourself.” His teeth begin to chatter, and salt from his nose drips to his lip. “And the world fucking took that from you.” He buries his mouth into his shoulder and squeezes his burning eyes shut, crying silently into his shirt. He bites down hard, his mouth filling with acrid copper. But it’s not painful enough. He still feels the crushing ache in his chest. The fog sticks to his clammy skin, and he runs a shaking hand through his hair, grasping the bleached lock. “They took you from me,” he breathes, pulling his mouth from sloppy, bloodied skin. “They took you too fucking soon.” He sniffles, and wipes his face with both hands, spitting salt and copper out into the swirling, red fog.

Jason blows out a mouthful of air and staggers to his feet. He sways and looks up into the night, searching the sky for her light. But she’s still dark and empty, as unforgiving as ever. “Well, I hope you’ll forgive me tonight,” Jason whispers. He collects himself and shakes his head, setting his jaw hard. He closes his eyes, rocking slightly on his heels, the ground firm at his feet. The fog licks at his sweaty skin, his jacket flapping against his chest in the wind. Jason listens for a sound in the quiet night, waiting on a sign. But nothing answers. He sucks in a breath and shoves a heavy hand into his pocket, clearing his throat as he fiddles with the crumpled sheets of paper. Jason closes his fist round them, the longhand letter he had written after hearing about Roy. He knew every word written. But there was no need for it all to be said, to be breathed out into the uncaring night beyond Roy’s reach. He had missed that chance. Frost would have to do.

“‘The nearest friends can go with anyone to death, comes so far short they might as well not try to go at all.’ You asked me to go with you, Roy. But…” Jason grimaces and his voice cracks. He shudders, “‘One is alone, and he dies more alone. Friends make pretense of following to the grave…’” He steps up onto the outer ledge of the building, the skyglow reflecting off the sheet of fog. “You’re my best friend, Roy. So, I’ll see you soon, buddy.” And all Jason sees is the swirling red, the flashing blue. Smiles ebb in the milky color. And an empty darkness swims up before him.

••

The sun beats a furious red on his eyelids. Jason coughs up whisky and spits blood onto the warped stone. He groans, stretching his aching neck as he looks over his shoulder at the edge of the building, the Gotham skyline looming in the background. Jason isn’t unfamiliar with blacking out. But he had come up here to say good-bye to Roy. Guess it went well, judging by the number of bottles. He sways as he pushes himself up onto his knees, fiddling with his sore jaw and bloodied lip. He sighs and rests his numb hands on his thighs, looking up into the morning sky. He reeks of Gotham air and cheap booze. Not the most fitting state to be in for this, but no one is perfect. “Good-bye, Roy,” Jason whispers. A pang in his chest answers, and he massages it with his palm. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll find a way. And I’ll see you soon, buddy.”


End file.
